


Our Side

by wingsfromthewater



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, body swapping, chasing that happy ending, good omens shower thoughts, hand holding, idiots being idiots, inspired by a tumblr post, otherwise known as, so much hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 18:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19340233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsfromthewater/pseuds/wingsfromthewater
Summary: You know those two idiots didn’t just figure out they could switch bodies by thinking about it with their brains. They were sitting around in Crowley’s flat, having a deep conversation and holding hands for the first time and it just spontaneously happened.When you post a tiny little thing on tumblr and then it's like 3,000 words later and here we are.





	Our Side

They’d spoken few words on the bus and as they entered the flat and settled on the sofa with glasses of deep red wine. Aziraphale sat upright on one end though his posture was becoming less ridged with each glass of wine he drank. Crowley was folded into the other corner, one leg tucked up on the cushion and an arm resting languidly along the back of the sofa. They drank in silence, needing no words to communicate their collective relief at the brief respite from Armageddon and warring factions.

Yet, as Aziraphale watched Crowley stare down into his wine glass, he was reminded of his face as it had been when he’d returned to the physical plane. The audio connection had been rather good for his first try, good enough to hear the anguish in Crowley’s voice when he’d said, “I lost my best friend.” The visual connection had been fairly weak though so Aziraphale had only seen flashes of Crowley’s face that hadn’t appeared to line up with the words. But he’d seen deep, despairing sadness, the like he’d never seen on Crowley before. And Crowley had not mentioned it again. So, perhaps words were needed. 

Aziraphale turned towards Crowley and tapped a finger to the back of his hand as it was nearest and seemed the best way of getting his attention. Crowley looked up, his yellow eyes visible for once. “I’m sorry about your friend,” said Aziraphale in a low, soft voice. 

Crowley squinted at him, raising an eyebrow. “What are you on about, Angel?”

Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, puzzled. “You said, you know, before I found Madame Tracy, when we were talking, you said your best friend had died.”

“How- I was talking about-“ Crowley spluttered. “How can you be so dense?” He set his wineglass on the floor next to the sofa and rubbed his now empty hand across his forehead. He looked this close to pinching the bridge of his nose as he used to do as Nanny Ashtoreth when Warlock did something particularly nice. He took his hand away and looked at Aziraphale defiantly. “I was talking about you.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale was more than a little taken aback. He looked away from Crowley, mentally flicking through his catalog of images from that conversation. “Oh,” he said again more softly. 

Crowley was speaking again but the words barely registered. “You’d just died in a fire, or so I thought. I always assumed that even if you discorperated, I’d still be able to sense you, but I couldn’t.” As he spoke, Crowley began to withdraw, coiling himself up. The hand on the back of the sofa slid inexorably away from Aziraphale, the fingers changing from a study in idle insouciance to a fist lined in tension. “I understand that it’s not the same for you. I know you have other people to fraternize with.” Aziraphale snapped back to the present at that word, feeling the slap of a century old fight. He turned towards Crowley, mirroring his position and reaching for his hand. He slipped his hand under Crowley’s and their hands came to rest on the back of the sofa with Aziraphale’s thumb brushing Crowley’s knuckles. Crowley stared at their intertwined hands, the yellow of his eyes expanding until there was no white left to be seen. 

“There is no one more important to me than you.” Aziraphale moved his head trying to catch Crowley’s eyes. “No one. Except maybe God herself.” Crowley was looking at him now, but he still didn’t seem convinced. His face was guarded and tense, all jutting lips and wrinkled brow. 

“You were right.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, as though he was speaking of something sacred. “We are on our side, just the two of us.” Crowley’s façade began to crack. His eyes widened and the tension began to drain away. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley began to smile. Aziraphale was sure he hadn’t seen him look this free and gleeful since the Garden. Aziraphale smiled back and squeezed Crowley’s hand. Crowley glanced down at their intertwined fingers and started, his face falling. 

He yanked his hand back and jumped up from the sofa, looking utterly horrified. Aziraphale lept to his feet, following Crowley across the room. “Ssstop!” hissed Crowley, putting out his hands to keep Aziraphale from approaching. Then he looked at his hands, his eyes growing even wider. He crossed his arms, tucking his hands away and appearing to shrink as he coiled in on himself. 

Aziraphale took a step back. He wanted to reach out to Crowley, to comfort him but it was clear that touch wasn’t going to help this situation. His hands came up of their own accord and he forced them down and clasped them behind his back. “My dear fellow, whatever is the matter?” he asked, his gentle voice full of concern. 

“Your sssleeve. It wasss ssstarting to turn black.” The look on his face of wretched despair shot Aziraphale right through the heart. “I can’t let you fall. Not for me.” Crowley turned and began to walk away.

Aziraphale reached out for him and caught him by the elbow, though he knew he shouldn’t. “I don’t care,” he said, desperate to regain the intimacy they’d shared a moment before. 

Crowley rounded on him, crowding into his space, his eyes flashing, his face contorted in anger. “You should care!” His eyes constricted until the whites began to show again and tears began to gather. “I can’t do that to you,” in so soft a voice that Aziraphale could barely hear him.

Crowley tried to turn away but Aziraphale clung to his arm. “Look!” he said, indicated his perfectly white sleeve. “Whatever happened, it’s fine now.” 

Crowley looked for a long moment and then tentatively reached out to touch the cuff of Aziraphale’s snowy white sleeve. His fingers lingered for a moment, running over the soft material of Aziraphale’s ancient greatcoat. He looked up at Aziraphale who was beaming at him. “See? All tickyboo.”

Crowley let out a short laugh of relief and slid his fingers down Aziraphale’s hand until their fingers were twisted together again. They stood for a moment looking at their hands clasped between them. Then it started again, the darkness like a creeping shadow rising up Aziraphale’s arm. Crowley jerked back but Aziraphale held on tight. 

“Wait,” he said. “Look.” He pointed to Crowley’s arm which was beginning to go white. Aziraphale turned their hands, trying to get a better view of what ever was going on. “Are you wearing my ring?” he asked, but he could see it peaking out through his fingers on Crowley’s pinky. “Are you wearing my hand?” he asked with some alarm. 

“Aziraphale?” said Crowley slowly, speaking in the voice of someone who is internally panicking while externally trying not to make matters worse by panicking. The rising black and white sped up exponentially. Crowley met Aziraphale’s eyes and then, suddenly was looking into his own eyes. 

“Well, fuck,” said Crowley, except it came out in Aziraphale’s voice. “Fuck,” he said again experimentally. “Bugger. Wanker. Shit.” He began to smile.

“Crowley stop that this instance,” Crowley seemed to say but with Aziraphale’s inflection and good posture. “It’s unseemly.” 

“Christ, do my eyes always look that weird?” asked Crowley as he stood on his tip toes to see better. He put a hand on the side of Aziraphale’s face yanking it side to side to investigate and not feeling to bad about it because it was his face, really. Color began running down his sleeve again and moments later he was back in his own body, looking down at Aziraphale. 

“What in the heaven was that?” asked Crowley. “Did you know we could do that?”

“I had no idea,” said Aziraphale. “Everything alright on your end?”

“Yeah, I feel fine. A bit buzzy but I don’t mind it. You?”

“Everything seems to be in working order. Tip top.” Aziraphale was looking at his hands, flipping them over to inspect the backs and the palms. 

“Do you suppose that’s what old Nutter meant, then?” asked Crowley. “Choose your faces wisely?” 

“I suppose so,” said Aziraphale. 

“Do you think we can do it again?” 

“Let’s try,” said Aziraphale. He reached out a hand and Crowley’s slid in to his. He watched as Crowley’s slender fingers wrapped around his. He looked up to meet Crowley’s eyes which flicked up from their hands to look back at him. And then he was once again looking down into his own eyes. He rolled his head around and pulled his shoulders back feeling elongated and sharp in Crowley’s body. 

Crowley was looking up at Aziraphale with his head cocked to the side. “What do you suppose holy water would do to me when I’m like this?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was shocked. He’d thought, or at least hoped, that Crowley had given up his suicidal fixation with holy water.

“No!” said Crowley his eyes raising and bunching up Aziraphale’s forehead. “I just- I imagine that’s what my lot’ll do to me when they catch me.”

Aziraphale felt as though a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him. He’d imagined they would both be punished for their part in the Not-pocalypse, but he’d never considered that either of them would receive the ultimate punishment. He reached out instinctively to take Crowley’s hand. They switched back but he continued to hang on, tight enough that it probably wasn’t comfortable for Crowley. “They wouldn’t,” he whispered, looking up at Crowley.

“Wouldn’t they?” replied Crowley with a harsh laugh. “I killed a demon, Angel. I thwarted the Great Plan.”

“We thwarted the Plan,” said Aziraphale. 

“And you don’t think your lot will have something to say about that as well?” asked Crowley. 

“Well, I suppose I’d never considered…” Aziraphale trailed off, distraught. 

“Oh, Angel. We’ll figure it out.” Crowley wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and pulled him in. Aziraphale rest his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder and put his arm around his back, their hands still clasped together. 

Crowley was silent for a moment, his fingers twisting through a curl at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck while he thought. “When we switched, could you tell if you still had your powers or if you had mine?” he asked.

“Not really,” said Aziraphale. “I never thought our powers were all that different, though. You can bless as easily as I and I can tempt when I am called to. The only difference is holy water and hellfire.” 

“And consecrated ground,” said Crowley and Aziraphale could feel him grimace. 

“That’s a perfect test,” said Aziraphale. “Presumably, if consecrated ground affects you then holy water will too. But if not…” He pulled away slightly to look up at Crowley. “We could go to a church and try it out.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” said Crowley. “They’ll all be locked up and under guard.” 

Aziraphale smiled mischievously. “You forget, my dear fellow, that I am an angel of the Lord.” 

A short time later, the were on the steps of the nearest church. Aziraphale laid a hand on the thick wooden door and there was an audible click as the bolt slid back. Crowley was watching him with a deeply impressed expression. Aziraphale smiled a half smile and pushed the door open. “Ready?” he asked and extended his hand.

“Ready,” said Crowley and grasped Aziraphale’s hand again. Their sleeves began to change and with a shimmer, they were in each other’s bodies. “After you,” said Crowley with a sweep of the arms that was much too extravagant for Aziraphale’s frame.

Aziraphale stepped one of Crowley’s long legs across the threshold. He felt absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. He took another step. Nothing. He walked halfway up the nave before looking back at the door. 

“How does it feel?” asked Crowley, apprehensively. 

“Northing out of the usual,” he replied. “Give it a go.”

Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s foot and carefully touched a toe across the threshold. He pulled it back, hissing in pain and nearly losing his balance in his unfamiliar body. 

Aziraphale pressed his lips together to keep from laughing as laughing at another’s pain wasn’t a very angelic impulse. Though, if he laughed, it wouldn’t be and angel laughing, it would be a demon. He compromised by smiling. “Don’t you think you’d perhaps better take just a few more steps? Just to be sure?”

Crowley glared. He took a deep breath and then took off walking down the aisle like he was walking over hot coals, his footsteps quick and his arms swinging. About halfway down, he turned on his heel and walked quickly back out of the church. He stood just outside the door, shaking out his feet and wincing. “Happy?” he asked.

“Just about,” said Aziraphale, walking towards the font at the back of the church. He lifted the heavy wooden cover and set on the ground, leaning against the pedestal. Crowley, in Aziraphale’s body, recoiled. 

“Can’t you feel that?” he asked, visibly restraining himself from backing further away. 

“No,” said Aziraphale. “It doesn’t feel like anything to me.” He lifted a hand and hovered it over the surface of the water. He looked at Crowley who was beginning to look a bit green. “I feel as though I should have your permission. This is your body after all.” 

Crowley nodded, the movement at the very edge of perceptible. Aziraphale locked eyes with him a moment longer before turning his attention to the water. He slowly lowered his hand until just a fingertip dipped into the water. The water felt cool and completely normal. He flicked his finger slightly, sending ripples through the basin. Absolutely nothing happened. He looked back over at Crowley whose face had a white, chalky pallor. Aziraphale quickly removed his hand from the water. A bead of water dripped off the tip of Crowley’s finger. 

“Would you please hand me my handkerchief?” he asked Crowley. “The one in my breast pocket?” Crowley patted Aziraphale’s hands on his chest, feeling for the pockets until he located the pocket and the creamy white handkerchief within. He held it out at arm’s length, his hand steady. Aziraphale took it, keeping his contaminated hand well back and making sure that none of the drips fell on Crowley’s clothes. He dried his finger, making a final pass with a dry corner of the handkerchief before laying it out on the back of a pew. He replaced the heavy wooden lid and turned back to Crowley. “I suppose I should wash my hands, just to be safe.” Crowley nodded vigorously. 

He returned several minutes later, having washed his hands twice with very hot water and lots of soap. He pulled the doors shut and laid a hand on the door to lock it once more. Then he turned to Crowley, looking down at him. He reached out a hand. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” whispered Crowley and took his hand. Aziraphale held his breath as they switched and didn’t let it out until Crowley was fully back in his body, looking at his hands that had touched the holy water with reverence. “What was it like?” he asked.

“Wet,” said Aziraphale. Crowley looked up at him in surprise and then began to laugh. 

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink,”

They made their way to the local pub and ensconced themselves at a table in a conveniently private nook. Aziraphale was nursing a glass of port which the bartender had not realized they’d had until Aziraphale asked for it. Aziraphale sipped his drink as he watched Crowley stare morosely in to his second glass of whiskey, his first having made only a very short appearance in his glass. Crowley looked up at him. His face was hidden by his shades but he still clearly displayed a look of dejection.

“My dear fellow,” said Aziraphale as though continuing a conversation they’d been having, though really, he was just verbalizing the conversation he’d been having in his mind since the church. “Let me go downstairs. In your place.”

Crowley’s eyes flashed up; his expression even more enraged than when he’d shoved Aziraphale against the wall in the old convent. He looked as though he were about to leap over the table and rip Aziraphale’s throat out. Or stop someone else from doing it. 

“No, absolutely not. Out of the questions. How could you even- No. No, no, no, no, no,” Crowley spluttered, His semi lucid sentences being transformed in to sounds of dismay. 

“Just think about it,” said Aziraphale. “I go to Hell, they throw holy water on me thinking it’s you and nothing happens? They won’t know what to think and they’ll leave you alone for ages.”

“I can’t do it, Angel.” 

“Crowley-“ Aziraphale reached his hand across the table in a placating gesture. 

“I thought I lost you once,” said Crowley, grabbing Aziraphale’s hand. “I can’t risk it again.”

“Don’t you think I feel the same way?” asked Aziraphale. He looked down at their hands and flinched, about to pull his hand away. “We can’t switch here. Surely the humans would notice.”

“Can’t you just try staying on your side?” asked Crowley, waving his hand vaguely. 

“I suppose I can try,” said Aziraphale. He closed his eyes and focused. He felt his being return to his body, like the tide ebbing away. The black that had begun to creep up his sleeve receded. He looked up at Crowley who squeezed his hand. 

“So, I’ll go down and pay your side a visit,” said Aziraphale. “And you can find somewhere to lay low.”

“If you are going to take my place, then I’m going to take yours,” said Crowley fiercely. 

“Crowley, I can’t ask you to do that,” said Aziraphale.

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Angel. If we’re doing this, then it’s both of us or none at all.”

“I just don’t know what my side would do to you if they found out,” said Aziraphale. He felt so far removed from his side. His side which he had so long thought of as the side of right, the side of fairness, the side that stuck up for the underdogs and the humans. When the angels had cornered him on the street, he’d begun to realize that he had been wrong and when he saw Gabriel yelling at Adam, he knew for sure that his values no longer aligned with heaven and hadn’t for some time.

Crowley rested his other hand on top of Aziraphale’s, holding his hand between both of his own. He leaned across the table slightly. “They’re not your side anymore. I am,” he said softly.

Aziraphale looked up and nodded, smiling a small, tight smile. He swallowed around the knot in his throat that was beginning to form. “Just you and me,” he whispered.

Crowley sighed. He pulled his hands away to run them through his hair. He even took off his glasses to massage his forehead though he kept his eyes shut until he put them back on. “I reckon this is the only option,” he said. “We can’t go to our own head offices.” Crowley grimaced and Aziraphale mirrored the expression. “We could run but anywhere we could go, they could follow and that’s just not how I want to live my life.”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale nodded. “And it’s what Agnus said to do. I don’t think she’d steer us wrong.”

“Well then,” said Crowley, leaning back and folding his arms.

“Well then,” said Aziraphale. “So, we’re agreed?”

“Yep,” said Crowley. “tomorrow morning then?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Azirpaphale. 

“Fantastic,” said Crowley, taking a large gulp of his whiskey. 

“It’ll work,” said Aziraphale.

“And if it doesn’t’?” asked Crowley. 

“Then, hypothetically, this would be your last night on earth,” said Aziraphale. "So, hypothetically, if this were your last night on earth, what would you like to do?”

Crowley leaned forward and looked over his shades at Aziraphale. “Oh Angel, I think you know the answer to that question.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please pardon the typos and the logical inconsistencies and feel free to point them out if they bug you so I can fix them!


End file.
